Classic Poem

This was the end of the battle.
The tigers poured by in a tide
Over us all with their caterwaul call,
“We are the tigers,”
They cried.
“We are the sabres,”
They cried.

But we laughed while our blades swept wide,
While the dawn-rays stabbed through the gloom.
“We are suns on fire” was our yell—
“Suns on fire.” . . .
But man-child and mastodon fell,
Mammoth and elephant fell.
The fangs of the devil-cats closed on the world,
Plunged it to blackness and doom.
The desolate red-clay wall
Echoed the parrots' call:—
“Immortal is the inner peace, free to beasts and men.
Beginning in the darkness, the mystery will conquer,
And now it comforts every heart that seeks for love again,
And now the mammoth bows the knee,
We hew down every Tiger Tree,
We send each tiger bound in love and glory to his den,
Bound in love . . . and wisdom . . . and glory, . . . to his den.”

A peacock screamed of his beauty
On that broken wall by the trees,
Chiding his little mate,
Spreading his fans in the breeze . . .
And you, with eyes of a bride,
Knelt on the wall at my side,
The deathless song in your mouth . . .
A million new tigers swept south . . .
As we laughed at the peacock, and died.

This is my vision in Springfield:
Three times as high as the dome,
Tiger-striped trees encircle the town,
Golden geysers of foam:—
Though giant white parrots sail past, giving voice,
Though I walk with Peace-of-the-Heart and rejoice.